It began as an evensong for the darkening close of a culture, a career, a day. Perhaps there is some simple melody that says it all. Perhaps there is an idea, an image, some essential metaphor that might survive the exigencies of time and technology and personal limitation. However, the past does not lend itself to the extrapolation of simple messages. The past goes back to childhood and beyond to the cultural verities of our heritage. The past is too loaded to yield any significant truth without a struggle. Having struggled, the result is both beguiling and disconcerting; a shock of recognition like finding some unexpected internal fess point that has never been fully apprehended nor entirely erased. Strange yet familiar, it speaks of me, for me, to me.